The four who had pursued Norrec from inside stepped past the prisoner, pausing only to salute the officer in charge before wandering off. Norrec grimaced, realizing that he had walked into the most basic of traps.
He had no idea as to the intentions of his captors, but at the moment, they interested him far less than the question as to why Bartuc's armor had not reacted. Surely this situation called for something from it, but so far it seemed unwilling to try to free its host. Why?
"Pay attention, westerner!" the officer came close to slapping Norrec, but finally lowered his hand. "Come peacefully and you will not be mistreated! Resist…" The man's hand now slipped to the hilt of his curved sword, his meaning quite clear.
Norrec nodded his understanding. If the armor chose not to resist, he certainly had no intention of trying to fight himself free of this armed patrol.
His captors formed a square of sorts, with their leader in front and Norrec, of course, in the middle. The party headed down the street, away from the larger crowds. Several curious folk watched the procession, but no one seemed at all sympathetic to the foreigner's troubles. Likely they figured that there were always more outsiders, so what difference the loss of one?
No one had as of yet explained exactly for what reason Norrec had been arrested, but he had to assume it had something to do with the Hawksfire 's arrival. Perhaps he had been wrong when he had thought that no watch had been set at the port. Perhaps Lut Gholein kept a more wary eye on those who arrived by ship than appearances had suggested. It also remained possible that Captain Casco had, after all, reported the goings-on aboard his vessel and the one responsible for the loss of his crew.
The lead guard suddenly veered toward a narrow side street, the rest of the group following close behind. Norrec frowned, no longer thinking of Casco and the Hawksfire. His captors now journeyed through lessfrequented, more disreputable-looking avenues into which even the brightest day would have had trouble shedding light. The soldier tensed, sensing something suddenly awry with the situation.
They journeyed a little farther, then turned into an alley nearly as dark as night. The band proceeded a few yards into it, then the guards came to an abrupt halt.
His captors stood at attention, seeming to barely even breathe. In fact, the four guards stood at attention with such stillness that Norrec could not help but think that they resembled nothing more than puppets whose master had ceased pulling their strings.
And as if to verify that notion, a portion of the shadowsseparated from the rest, shaping itself into an elderly, wrinkled man with long, silver hair and beard and clad in an elegant, broad-shouldered robe clearly fashioned in the style worn by someone Norrec had known so very well… Fauztin. However, this figure, this Vizjerei, had not only lived for far longer than Norrec's unfortunate friend, but by being here evidenced quite well the fact that his abilities far outstripped those of the dead mage.
"Leave us…" he ordered the guards, his voice strong, commanding, despite his advanced years.
The officer and his men obediently turned, marching back the way they had come.
"They will recall nothing," the Vizjerei commented. "As the others who aided them will recall nothing… just as I desire…" When Norrec attempted to speak, the silver-haired figure cut him off with but a singular glance. "And if you hope to live, westerner… you, too, will do as I desire… exactly as I desire."
Eleven
"Are you not feeling well, then, lass?" Captain Jeronnan asked. "You've come out of your cabin only to gather your meals, then returned there for the rest of the time."
Kara looked him directly in the eye. "I am well, captain. With the King's Shield nearing Lut Gholein, I must prepare for my journey from that point on. There is much for me to consider. I apologize if I appear unfriendly to you and your crew."
"Not unfriendly… just more distant." He sighed. "Well, if you need anything, just let me know."
She needed quite a lot, but nothing with which the good captain could help her. "Thank you… for everything."
The necromancer felt his eyes on her as she headed for her cabin. Jeronnan would likely have done anything he could for Kara regardless of the situation and she much appreciated that fact. Unfortunately, any aid he might have offered would not have at all helped the enchantress in her present predicament.
As she entered the cabin, Kara saw the two undead standing in the far corner, waiting with the proverbial patience of their kind. Fauztin held the gleaming dagger ready, the Vizjerei's spell upon it ensuring that the necromancer could do nothing against the pair. The yellowed eyes of the mage stared unblinking at her. Kara could never be certain what Fauztin thought, for his expression varied little.
Not so with Sadun Tryst. The other revenant continually smiled, as if he had some jest he wished to share. Kara also found herself constantly desiring to straighten his head, which ever leaned a little too far to one side or another.
The stench of death surrounded them, but so far as she could tell it had not pervaded any part of the ship beyond her cabin. As a necromancer, the foul smell bothered Kara less than most, but she still would have preferred to do without it. Her studies and her faith had ensured that Kara had dealt almost daily with the realm of the dead, but those encounters had ever been on her own terms. Never before had the tables been turned, that the dead made her come at their beck and call.
"The good captain… leaves you to… your self still… I hope," Tryst gasped.
"He is concerned for me; that is all."
The wiry ghoul chuckled, a sound like an animal choking on a bone. Perhaps when the man's neck had been broken, a part of the bone there had lodged in his wind pipe. It would explain the way he talked. Even though Sadun Tryst did not need to breathe, he needed air in order to speak.
Of course, with a gaping hole in his throat, Tryst's companion, the Vizjerei, would forever be silent.
"Let us hope… that his concern… remains distant… from this room."
Fauztin pointed to the edge of the bed, a wordless order the dark mage readily understood. Her food held tight in one hand, she perched there, awaiting whatever new command they had of her. So long as the Vizjerei held the dagger, his magic kept Kara Nightshadow in thrall.
Tryst's eyes blinked once, a conscious effort on the part of the corpse. Unlike Fauztin, he worked to pretend thatsome life remained within his decaying husk. As a mage, the gaunt Vizjerei no doubt saw the situation in more practical, realistic terms. The fighter, on the other hand, appeared to have been a man much in love with all the aspects of life. Behind the smile Kara suspected that this ungodly predicament enraged him more than it did his companion.
"Eat…"
Under their unwavering gazes she did. All the while, though, the necromancer rummaged through her memory, trying to recall some bit of knowledge she might use to free herself from all this. That they had not so far touched Kara, much less harmed her in any manner, did not assuage her concerns in the least. The revenants had one goal in mind-to reach their friend, this Norrec Vizharan. If, at some point, it seemed necessary to sacrifice her for the culmination of that goal, Kara felt certain that they would do so without regret.
Vizharan had been their partner, their comrade, and yet he had evidently brutally slain both, then taken off with the armor. Sadun Tryst had not exactly told her all this, but she had come to that conclusion from the fragments of information garnered from conversations with the talkative ghoul. Tryst had never actually even accused Norrec, instead only saying that they needed to find their partner, to end what had begun in the tomb- and that because Kara had not stayed behind as they had wished, she would now be a part of their macabre quest.